Brazil: In search of the queen of samba

Sandra Lawrence scours the backstreets of Rio for reminders of Carmen Miranda, the diva who became a symbol of Brazil

12:01AM BST 12 Aug 2003

'Bananas is my business,' Carmen Miranda famously quipped. Images of girls in fruit-laden turbans are still a standard Brazilian symbol, selling everything from coffee to hotels. But how did Carmen Miranda create that image? And is there anything left of her in the streets of her adored adoptive city, Rio de Janeiro?

Maria do Carmo da Cunha was born in Portugal but grew up in Brazil, in Rio's Lapa District, which is still a vibrant but poor area just south of downtown, also still somewhat dangerous.

The 18th-century Lapa Arches aqueduct - uncannily modern in style - presides over the crumbling grandeur of once-superb buildings awaiting government renovation. Ferns flourish in the cracks of disintegrating balconies and street traders eagerly proffer everything from Pepsi Cola cooled in buckets of water to a single pair of second-hand trainers. It's not a great idea to wander round the Lapa district at night. Buses are unsafe; the metro is better but limited.

My prayers were answered in the form of Celestino - a softly-spoken, history-loving cabbie. I asked him if he fancied a little detective work. He was uncomfortable - he knew the area's reputation - but his curiosity was piqued.

We set off to find 53 Rua Joaquim Silva, where Carmen Miranda's family moved in 1915. Off the main drag, it was dark, quiet and foreboding. I pointed to a large building complete with Corinthian columns and carved cornices. A government building? A library, perhaps? "Um, that's where the, er, professional ladies are," muttered Celestino, busily counting houses. The numbers didn't go in order, and little steps leading to dwellings behind confused things further.

After several recounts, we admited defeat and headed back, where the strains of samba floated across the Rua da Lapa. Samba, a poor black rhythm popularised by Carmen Miranda, is enjoying a revival. "Young people are starting to listen to the old sounds again," Celestino shouted over the mêlée. "You'll find a lot of these little places." Perspiration formed little beads on Celestino's brow and I suggested he removed his jacket. "No," he insisted. "People will think I am your minder and assume that I have a gun."

Next up is a house Carmen bought when she was just coming into money - 229 Rua Andre Cavalcanti. Poor, long-suffering Celestino drove as far as he could up the steep slopes dividing Lapa and Santa Teresa, then we set out on foot. It was midday on the hottest day of the year. At a small bar, we were told the road ran out at the next bend. We were straying out of "respectable" Rio, into slum territory.

We continued up a stone track, increasingly aware that we were being watched. But at the next turn, a delightful little gingerbread house, surrounded by broken automobiles and squashed mangoes, with a tiny plaque announcing Carmen Miranda once lived there. Not that the present owner cared. He was too busy scraping a living. He unpadlocked the gate, calling off his hungry-looking dog. We looked around for a polite amount of time then legged it back down the hill as fast as we could.

I was keen to find somewhere associated with Carmen Miranda that I could enjoy without fear, so my next stop was Downtown - the ancient Arco do Teles. Carmen Miranda's mother ran a boarding house there; now it is a restaurant. At night the area heaves with life, but despite the quaint cobbled streets, it is for local workers, specialising in "food by weight". It has hardly changed since Carmen's time - the same high ceilings and bustle - and, but for a small plaque above the desserts, has no reference to its illustrious previous owner.

A stone's throw away, I found the shop where Carmen Miranda found her first job as a hat salesgirl. 120 Rua do Ouvidor is a jeweller's now, but the wooden cabinets, mosaic floor and glass mirror are original. I couldn't resist a spot of leather shoe and handbag shopping - two of Brazil's best buys.

Unlisted in most tourist books, anyone would think Brazil didn't want visitors to find the Carmen Miranda Museum. Forgotten between two busy highways on a strip of parkland, this neo-brutalist former snack bar looks more like a cross between an electricity substation and a nuclear bunker than a tribute to Brazil's diva. Strapped for cash and lacking air-conditioning, Cesar Balbi, the museum's curator, was tearing his hair out. His is a gigantic collection of Carmen's costumes, memorabilia and outrageous hats, virtually none of which he can display. In heat such as Rio's, exhibits need to be properly preserved and he doesn't have the cash to show more than a handful of items. He did, however, allow me a peek into store-rooms where piles of costumes await conservation.

The Cassino da Urca is a giant art-deco white elephant straddling the main road at Urca, an exclusive residential area. Gambling was outlawed in Brazil in 1946 and all the casinos closed overnight. Apart from a brief spell as a television studio it has been empty ever since, too expensive to renovate, too precious to lose. Sinking into golden sand behind boarded-up picture windows, I imagine Carmen Miranda's triumph - and tragedy - inside this peeling white palace, the theatre where she was discovered, whisked to Broadway, and rejected.

Celestino tried the door handle. A hollow rattle reverberated round empty chambers. To our surprise, the door creaked open and a Lurch-like caretaker squinted into the sun. Despite Celestino's pleas, we were summarily dismissed, though not before I had peered over Lurch's shoulder at marble columns and cornices quietly mouldering away.

Everyone has stayed at the Copacabana Palace, from Errol Flynn to Ava Gardner and Igor Stravinsky to Princess Diana. Carmen Miranda's turn was in 1954 and I managed to reserve the room in which she stayed.

Jorge Guinle is the 86-year-old nephew of the original builder and responsible for bringing just about every Hollywood star to Brazil. He remembers Carmen Miranda well and believes she is an unsung jazz legend. "She was an improviser, with a style of her own," he recalled.

But depression had set in. Alone, Miranda spent months staring from the balcony of rooms 755/757 onto the street where 20-odd years earlier she had scandalised Rio by being photographed in a bathing suit.

Every year the hotel hosts Rio's biggest Carnival Ball, when a thousand costumes are made around the theme of The Lady In The Tutti-Frutti Hat. The gay community, in particular, loves Carmen - a drag act roughly translating as "Carmen Miranda on Roller Skates" joins the Carmen Miranda Carnival Band, a bunch of fanatics who play her music in the Grand Parade.

Carmen based her costumes on the Bahianas - the poor black fruit-sellers of Bahia - exaggerating the flouncy skirts, frilly blouses and turbans worn to protect their heads from the fruit baskets they carry. Bahian fish cuisine is superb and Siri Mole, a restaurant, favoured by locals, has a wide choice. Unable to decide, I ordered the "Symphony of Fish" which turned out to be a soup of succulent seafood, none of which I recognised.

Finally, I made my way to Carmen Miranda's grave, in Rio's Cemiterio São João Batista, in Botafogo. A haven from noise and traffic, the cemetery is serene, the mountains, flowers and birdsong welcome. We stopped by an unassuming dark marble monument, its only nod to a Hollywood replica of Carmen's flamboyant signature.

Celestino recalled that when she died - of a heart attack in 1955 - Rio was devastated. Her funeral became a day of national mourning as tens of thousands lined the streets.

It is then I realised something Carmen Miranda didn't. She was never abandoned by Brazil. The chattering classes may have rejected her brash charm but the people never stopped loving the girl who came from their midst and became a star on their behalf.

Getting there Varig (020 8321 7170; www.varig.co.uk) has return flights to Rio in September from around £800. Trailfinders (www.trailfinders.com) has return flights for £493 for departures between November 1 and December 10.